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'Echo of a Whistle' by Miranda Kate

Jonas had no idea how long he’d blacked out for this time. His
heart raced as he spun round trying to see if the man was still there, but all
he could see were empty train carriages sitting in the disused siding.

He shook his leg and pulled at his foot, but it was still wedged
right under the track and he couldn’t reach it.

It was really dark now, and the wind startled him as it hurtled
round the corners of the derelict train sheds. Any second now the man would
appear. He’d chased Jonas through the woods and out onto the embankment, he had
to be here somewhere.

He fought back tears of fear and frustration. He knew that crying
for his mummy wasn’t going to help him - the man had been right about that -
but the images of the underground room haunted him, with its dirt floor and
rusty metal cot. He couldn’t go back there; he couldn’t go through that pain
again. The very thought of the man touching him, putting those metal things
near him – he yanked at his foot again to distract himself from the
thought.

His escape had been a stroke of luck rather than planned. Not only
had had it been one of the rare days that the man hadn’t used the equipment on
him, but the man had become complacent, allowing Jonas to go and clean up by
himself.Jonas was halfway up the stairs
by the time he’d shouted, already running for his life.

And he’d almost made it, but then he’d caught his foot running
across the tracks. He’d been too busy looking over his shoulder at the man,
wondering why he’d stopped at the top of the embankment. And then the ground
had come up to meet him; the air rushing in his ears creating a high pitch sound
as he fell, and a blinding white flash as his head hit the track.

He attempted to reach his foot again, leaning on the track as he
did so, and that’s when he felt it - the vibration. He peered into the darkness
and made out two pin pricks of light. They were moving towards him, increasing
in size. In his gut he knew it was a train.

But instead of feeling panic, he felt calm. It was over; whether
dead or rescued the man couldn’t have him anymore.

Jonas looked up at the oncoming train, the lights clearly visible
now, his eyes tracing their perfect roundness. He waved his arm and waited,
listening for the whistle, the signal that they’d seen him. But it didn’t come.

And as the train raced through him, he realised he’d already heard
the whistle earlier that day, and the blinding flash hadn’t been his head
hitting the track. His foot wasn’t trapped anymore, the man was gone and so was
he.

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